Am I officially a writer now that I am sitting in a Starbucks drinking tea and editing my story?

I’d say so.

It’s funny, being a writer. A profession that literally anyone who can form basic sentences can do, yet few succeed in. Weird to think about, right?

Not only is the competition fierce, but the process is torture. That is, if you don’t like it.

Which, lucky for me, I do. But why?

I mean, what even is a writer?

According to Dictionary.com, a writer is “a person who commits his or her thoughts, ideas, etc., to writing”

Committing to writing… interesting theory.

Isn’t that was any profession is? A commitment? A commitment to late hours; a commitment to time wasted, according to some, or well spent, according to you and others; a commitment to being denounced over and over for what you do, yet still pursing it because ‘those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter;’ a commitment to try your hardest, but still accept other’s, especially those who care about you, as having good ideas. A commitment is involved in any profession.

Now, rather that is for money, your dreams, or God’s glory is up to you.